Thursday, January 31, 2008

Congratulations to Malibu Sands for winning the Second Annual Arabian Facebuster Royal Rumble Sweepstakes (or SAAFRRS for short). I've been re-tabulating the results for five days now and still can't manipulate the bonus points to eek out a victory for myself. Erstwhile intern Chip will be arriving at your Minnesota satellite office with a frosty, cold shipment of Iron City any day now. We hope it is helpful, if only for a short time, in helping you forget that John Cena is back and ready to stink up Wrestlemania.

But let us save the Cena bitch session for another day- for tonight, we CELEBRATE!

Remember that Introducton to Philosophy course you took as a plucky freshman undergraduate? Spirited discussions of Nietzsche's views on truth and morality on the quad with that nippy chick with the questionable grooming practices but smokin' hot body (I'm thinking of that Kate girl from Maine -- you know, the one that hung out with all the trust fund nippy dudes -- before her tum and dumper appropriated the dreaded freshman 15)? Pulling an all-nighter tweaked out of your mind on trucker pills and six cups of the sludgiest Maxwell House coffee you could brew to churn out a paper on the existentialist movement's critique of transcendentalism!? Confidently contrasting the theoretical underpinnings of the institutional deconstructionist methodologies employed by Foucault and Derrida on that essay final!?

Yeah, neither do I.

Therefore, in the interest of helping the Facebuster nation to relearn what near a decade of nights filled with bong hits of that sweet sweet kang, perfectly chilled can after succulent can of Schmidt's tall boys, badly burnt Jeno's pizzas (assorted varieties) and reruns of Thunder In Paradise in front of a grainy 12" Zenith helped us to so easily unlearn, I have attached a link to a philosophical quiz tailored made to Arabian Facebuster's sensibilities, a quiz that includes passages from the most brilliant and profound American philosophical mind since the passing of Allan Bloom -- The Ultimate Warrior.

See if you to identify which quote was spewed forth by the Philosopher Warrior, and which were penned by those pretentious Philosopher NORMALS. Post your carefully considered responses in the comments section. I'll throw the answer key up in a couple of days. This ain't college gentlemen...so no cheating!

Christ, just thinking about the writings of Martin Heidegger makes my head throb with actual brain activity. Time to blaze a fatty and find a jammin' drum circle and let the cranial stimulation just fade into oblivion.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Friday, January 25, 2008

...that his self-propagated and delusional mythology of immortality compelled the fatty pictured above (foreshadowing what Nick Hogan will look like in another 15 years or so) to desecrate his stuffed crust pizza and Little Debbie Snack Cake ravaged torso in tribute.

Thanks to the the ever-supportive Portland Wrestling community, th' Facebuster Staffers will indeed be enduring the Royal Rumble this Sunday. And, in our continuing effort to make the modern wrestling experience somewhat bearable, we will once again be giving away twelve cans of delicious Iron City Beer to whoever has the most picks in our hastily cobbled-together betting pool. Also, we'll purchase a 40 oz. beer of yr choice if you correctly name the winner of the Rumble itself... but in the interst of fairness, you are NOT ALLOWED TO PICK TRIPLE H. Yessir, those 40's are staying on the goddamn shelf this year. Also, I'm including some bonus points to help prevent tie scores in what is, honestly, an especially predictable schmozz.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

The unfortunate phenomenon known as Hulkamania was born with his victory over the The Iron Sheik (click here and give another viewing of the poet laureate of Arabian Facebuster's expletive and epithet laden tirade on recreational drug use, various sports entertainment legends and the pitfalls of carpooling with "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan after ingesting about ten gallons worth of truth serum) to capture the WWF Championship.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

And now, another dose of schadenfreude from Joanie Laurer. Apologies for the out-of-sync sound in this clip, in which the newly-rechristened Chyna attempts to tell Dr. Drew Pinsky exactly what addiction she needs rehabbed. Dr. Drew asks the question on America's lips: "If you're not hooked on booze and pills, why are you on this show?"

Well, for starters, Chyna may not be hooked on booze and pills RIGHT NOW, but anybody who caught her legendary "Holiday" performance on the Howard Stern Show can tell you this lady(?) knows her way around a prescription pad. Further, fans of VH1's Surreal Life know that Joanie drinks like she's got a hollow leg. But her real addiction is so obvious I can't believe Drew can't spot it right away.

So yes, Chyna hits the bottle from time to time. And yes, Chyna may or may not take the odd bar of Xanax. But the real problem is that she's on her THIRD FACE and now she's a puffy wasteland of Botox and collagen.The poor thing.

You know what I think would help? A song. Chyna's got such a pretty voice.

Friday, January 18, 2008

We watch for th' heart-warmin', chest-swellin' pride of regionalism. Before the death of the territory system, every sector of this Great American Nation Of Ours had its own breed of wrasslin' champion. Sure, there were those who strode from territory to territory like mighty colossuses, but our main draw for today, despite gaining (heh) large (hah) amounts of fame on a national stage, never really ballooned (haw) to leviathan proportions (hee!) outside the Pacific Northwest. While Ric Flair dominated the entire USA, the Northwest always kept PLAYBOY BUDDY ROSE clasped tightly to its collective bosom.

Misguided fat jokes aside, this clip is gold. From the initial Mount Saint Helens comparison to the incongruous hockey footage, this little gem is jam-packed with jets, champagne, and lovely ladies. Also on display is the trademark Buddy Rose promo style: confident, laconic, and stoned to the fucking gills (allegedly).

Speaking of which, my pal Jose Enrique claims to have spent a large part of the 80's hanging out with Buddy Rose in the North Portland/Vancouver environs. Joe says Buddy was a pretty heroic drinker (not quite like this guy, but still... Joe and his pals would be on beer three while th' Playboy was killing his sixth (and Jose is no slouch in the booze department, I can assure you). Other Jose-supplied Playboy factoids: Buddy Rose loved the sweet marijuana (of course), Buddy Rose was hilarious (duh), and Buddy Rose bought himself a pair of novelty "brass balls" to hang under the license plate of his car. This last bit of gossip should be accompanied by an image of a late-period Playboy, giddy as a schoolgirl, speeding North on I-5 so his Mexican Buddies in Vancouver (WA, natch) could weld fake testicles to his car.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Unequivocally, the greatest drunk in the history of humankind, if the Hemmingway's at Modern Drunkard Magazine are to be believed. So that's why they call Missy Hyatt the Andre The Giant of venereal diseases?!*

Color me skeptical, however, as this article contains numerous factual inaccuracies and suspect claims...his match was Hulk Hogan at WM3 was not a "bodyslam challenge"...Andre didn't retire after WM3, he wrestled for at least three years after doing the job to Hogan...their rematch took place 9 months (not 3 months later), contradicting their very own claim that Andre retired immediately after WM3...a case of wine is 12 bottles, not 16...$20k in take home pay per MSG house show in the late 1970s/early 1980s seems exorbitantly high considering (a) Bruno/Backlund were headlining the card during that period; and (b) during the busiest week of the year (Christmas) in the early 1980s, Ric Flair netted around $30k.

It's like this article was hastily penned by a bunch of unscrupulous, degenerate, heavily intoxicated, aspirant web based journalists full of moxie, confidence, conviction, unfounded and unsubstantiated opinions, and cans upon cans of thirst quenching Iron City Lager. Wait a second...

Details aside though, its hard to quibble with the article's overriding premise, that Andre could really fire down the liquor.

*Or if you prefer, replace this sentence with "So that's why they call "Mean" Gene Okerlund the Andre The Giant of acquaintance rape?!"

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

First, endless apologies for my absence. After an initial (planned) vacation from snark and whimsy (and the scorched and blighted thing that is contemporary wrasslin') I found myself the target of a particularly savage illness, which left me a howling tunnel of shit and vomit, crying for the sweet release of death.

I felt like last Friday's Smackdown! (Haw. Did you miss me, you poor bastards?)

So, stomach a-settled and teeth freshly-brushed, I thought I'd pop a Beefheart record on th' hi-fi and see what's doing in the world of Sports Entertainment. Oh, crackers! It's only a week-and-a-half until the Royal Rumble! The most important pay-per-view of the year except the main one and (debatably) that other one! I'd better hurry up and cover this shit! Why, we've got Edge/Mysterio, we've got Orton/Hardy, we've...

Aw, fuck it. I do NOT care. Just weeks after officially ending hostilities against the double-double E, and I'm itching for another war. These clowns have learned nothing from my dreams. Yeah, Edge is still killing shit, but the rest of Smackdown! is one big shrug. Even the decent matches are ones we've seen twice already (hi, Rey and Chavo!), the new announcing team of Coach and Cole is making me long for the amazing color work of Peter Senerchia, and the bad matches... Khali's manager arm-wrestles Hornswoggle? Ye Gods.

Look, if we can watch this for free at some unsuspecting bar, that's great. Last year was fun, right? All the Portland Wrestling guys had drinking-game rules for the rumble and we drew contestants out of a hat? And I got Sabu? And I severely burned my mouth with some fried chicken? But as far as actually paying for this per-view, and watching Jeff Hardy job to Randy Randy in a sober, non-circus atmosphere, I'm afraid fucking not.

Hey, don't cry... I'm not trying to be mean. Maybe we can get the TNA thing in February.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Friday, January 11, 2008

Our svelte, tastefully yet stylishly dressed, impeccably groomed, super bubbly intern Chip has brought it to my attention that Arabian Facebuster been spending an inordinate amount of time chronicling all of the gayness that professional wrestling has to offer as of late. From documenting Road Warrior Animal's leatherman phase, to promoting the shirtless outdoor hijinks of The New Generation, to exposing this continent to Japan's newest effeminate red thong wrestling prodigy Real Gay, to appealing the powers that be in Stamford CT to turn Big Daddy V more flamingly gay than a Lance Bass concert at Turkish bathhouse with 2-for-1's on unprotected, totally discreet butt sex, Arabian Facebuster is quickly becoming the EDGE New York City of professional wrestling blog sites -- young, hip, throbbing with hot content, completely shaven, and totally fucking gay.

In an effort to curb our descent into matters of immorality and sin (if Ric Flair's endorsed candidate for president is to be believed) once again stake our claim to the mantle of America's least read yet most respected and influential non-gay web site for objective professional wrestling journalism and incessant Hulk Hogan bashing, Arabian Facebuster is proud to present The Fabulous Freebirds (R to L) -- Terry Gordy, Michael Hayes, and Buddy Roberts -- three blue collar, good ol' rednecks who love to brawl, swill beer, grow chest hair, shoot animals, fly the confederate flag, park pick up trucks in their yard, crank The Georgia Satellites at all hours of the night, and most certainly not have sex with men.

Have a look at this clip from Bill Watts' Universal Wrestling Federation of Michael Hayes covering Thin Lizzy's "The Boys Are Back in Town," the supplier of which unfortunately disabled embedding (he's probably a homo just like that Bart Batten). What Michael Hayes lacks in vocal range, wrestling talent, or ability to project an aura of machismo through his sneering and posturing, he more than makes up for with...um...errr...lots of interspliced footage of Terry Gordy acrimoniously delivering a barrage of piledrivers, snap suplexes, and powerslams on the likes of Bill Watts, Steve "Dr. Death Williams," and Ted DiBiase?!

On second thought, with all of Hayes' hip gyrations, pelvis thrusts, and brazen strutting -- notwithstanding the fact he is flamboyantly sprawled out on a piano wearing black spandex smartly accessorized with a pair of white tennis shoes and what appears to be a children's extra small sized t-shirt at the clip's crescendo -- this video is kinda gay too.

Oh well, better luck to us next time in putting forth some unequivocally heterosexual content. And thanks for your insights, Chip. I appreciate your commitment to the Arabian Facebuster project and commend your tasteful decoration of our corporate headquarters.

Monday, January 07, 2008

...check out this music video from the Memphis/CWA territory assembled to build up the hunky, handsome, juiced up babyface tag team of Bart Batten (the less worthless twin brother in the Batten Brothers tag team, both of which can be seen here getting absolutely pulverized by "Mad Dog" Buzz Sawyer) and something called Johnny Wilhoit -- The New Generation. Let's hear it for the boyz, indeed! Why is professional wrestling so fascinated and obsessed in documenting a young tag team's shirtless ATV riding exploits o'er a pastoral prairie, shirted horseback riding adventures through a lush meadow, shirtless joyriding of a motorcycle that appears to have been stolen from one "Superstar" Bill Dundee down a rolling hillside, shirtless fence post straddling on a bucolic ranch, shirtless buggy riding across an undulating pasture, and shirtless poolside foreplay horseplay presumably near these majestic backdrops onto videotape?

That was a rhetorical question...so don't feel pressured to pen a treatise on homoerotic iconography and professional wrestling in the comments section, unless of course you feel so inclined.

Kids, its time for another installment of Arabian Facebuster's sporadic series waxing nostalgic on the greatness that was professional wrestling before the death of the territory system and eventual institution of WWE hegemony. This interrupts our regularly scheduled blogging time devoted to heaping righteous indignation on and chronicling the absurd misadventures of Hulk Hogan, Nick Hogan, a geriatric and disheveled Ric Flair, Bobby "Guy" Lashley, Chyna, Randy Orton, The Great Khali, TNA, and...Hulk Hogan.

This clip from June, 1986 exemplifies all that was right about World Class Championship Wrestling, even as the promotion was still reeling from the deaths of David Von Erich and Gino Hernandez and adjusting to life without the services of its biggest babyface Kerry Von Erich (who suffered a horrible motorcycle accident just weeks before, putting him out of commission for 18 months and eventually necessitating in the amputation of his right leg ). Although business was on the decline, the in-ring product and booking remained solid, as evidenced by this wild and violent segment, anchored by "The Mad Dog" Buzz Sawyer.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

"The Handsome Half Breed" Gino Hernandez applies an abdominal stretch on "The Modern Day Warrior" Kerry Von Erich.

This picture appeared in the Dallas Times Herald on February 19, 1986, in memorium to Hernandez who died of an apparent cocaine overdose earlier in the month. More on Hernandez's life and the suspect event and circumstances surrounding his death can be viewed here.